Hands and Hearts
by Mistressdickens
Summary: Immediately post the season 5 Christmas special proposal. A little look at how Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes react to the fact they are engaged. Originally a drabble on tumblr. Pure fluff.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This started life as a little drabble I wrote directly on my tumblr, for no apparent reason other than I had a sudden inspiration. It's now grown into what will probably become a three part fic, if only I can get darling Charles and Elsie to stop standing about in silence and actually TALK about what's just happened._

'Of _course_ I'll marry you, you old booby. I thought you'd never ask!'

The silence which enveloped the Butler's pantry after she had declared those amazing words had an almost ethereal quality to it. There had been no need for additional explanation after her acceptance had tumbled from her lips, and she had laid her hand on his arm. It was her touch that had undone him completely; he had felt giddy at her words, but her actions seemed to seal the promise somehow. He allowed himself to be consumed by his emotions and tears rolled down his cheeks as his face crumpled with the utter relief of it all.

He couldn't immediately recall the last time he had cried, but suspected it had been at the death of Lady Sybil – the shock of Matthew's loss, again so soon after the birth of a child, had rendered them all dry eyed. Then, as now, her touch had brought him comfort. It occurred to his befuddled mind that he wouldn't need a formal reason to touch her anymore, nor would the occasion require sadness. This delightful thought dried his tears instantly, to be replaced by a dazzling smile.

His fiancée missed this sign of his happiness, however, for her gaze was still fixated on the placement of her fingers and she seemed to be testing the smoothness of his jacket in the small circles her fingers were making. She felt a slight strain as his arm moved briefly, but before she could even begin to think what it meant, the tension ceased and his hand covered the one she had placed on his arm. Mrs Hughes's thoughts had been in a whirlwind (truth be told, she had been quite confused ever since he had suggested leaving as Mr Branson had been speaking), but now his touch drew her back down to earth. 'So – the steadying goes both ways', she thought, as she finally drew her eyes up to meet his and basked in the warmth of his smile, which she fully returned.

The silence grew, but a thousand emotions played out on the faces of the couple as they stood adjusting to this new situation, which managed to also feel decades old.

'Are you alright, Mrs Hughes?'

It was the first time he had said her name during the encounter (one could hardly call it a conversation) and it was so infused with feeling that she wondered if that was the reason he had avoided it, lest he gave the game away.

She leaned to her left slightly to discard her undrunk punch too and covered his hand with hers.

Oh yes, Mr Carson! Don't mistake my silence for anything other than complete happiness.* There are so many things to say that I find I don't know where to start. You've struck me quite dumb!

He chuckled, and refrained from making the obvious 'first time for everything' joke. On any other night she might have said it first, wanting to deflect the awkwardness for him, but tonight ….? No.

'Perhaps it's for the best.' He said. 'We both have things to share, and if we stay down here much longer, we'll run the risk of being missed.'

He squeezed the hand that still rested on his arm and nodded towards the door. 'Once more unto the breech, Mrs Hughes!'

She laughed merrily at this, rolling her eyes at him. 'I don't think we're going into battle, Mr Carson, although you were rather like a Sargent Major ordering Mr Barrow and Andy about earlier. I'll ask you why later.'

She let her top hand fall from his, but the one grasping his arm was not so easily relinquished, and as he opened the door and moved towards the staircase, she found that their fingers had become entwined. This was an entirely new sensation. Even at the seaside, their hands hadn't been so intimately connected. She stared at the interplay of their fingers as she followed him, and marvelled that something so apparently natural should be considered so daring. Her mind drifted on to other natural, yet daring, activities and suddenly she found she wanted to be doing anything but returning upstairs to her duties.

He was already on the third step before a strain on their link caused him to turn, releasing her hand as he did so, and realise that she wasn't quite ready to follow him. She stood at the foot of the stairs, a look of bemusement on her face, whilst her cheeks were flushed faintly pink.

Having regained the use of both her hands, she tugged slightly at the ends of her sleeves, smoothing the fabric, before she moved up to adjust her collar and pat the sides of her hair.

He smiled down at her, 'I assure you that your hair is quite tidy.'

Delight danced in her blue eyes as they met his, and a slight laugh ghosted through her lips as she marvelled at the new, easy, way he teased her. Yet his words were doubly layered with an undercurrent of pride in his voice and his eyes shone with feelings he had never allowed himself to reveal in any other encounter. It was all so supremely thrilling.

'I feel so changed inside that I suppose I wanted to check it wasn't outwardly visible. It wouldn't do for everyone to guess.'

He beamed broadly at her and drew her left hand into his once more, raising it to his lips. 'You are the same as you ever were Mrs Hughes' he intoned lowly 'Only now you are loved completely.'

He brushed his lips over her knuckles then, perhaps lingering slightly longer on the base of her fourth finger, and the gasp she gave at hearing his words was considerably lengthened by the very new sensation his lips on her skin gave.

He turned and led her up the stairs, back towards the party and their duties. He released her hand as they reached the door leading to the great hall, but paused to whisper something before they fully entered the room. A perfectly normal occurrence for the heads of the household, although if anyone had heard the whispered 'Sherry? After this?' and seen the small smile that accompanied her nod, they might have been a touch suspicious.

Love was clamouring in their ears as they had returned to the party, so neither of them had heard the back door open or the discordant steps making their way down the passage. But Mr Bates had heard their conversation and was beyond glad of the events that had taken place in his absence. He lingered a few minutes, not wanting the couple to know they had been overheard, and then he made his way up the stairs to find his own love.

A/N

There we go. I am planning on extending it slightly, but probably not beyond a three part fluff fest. I've been writing this with a cold, and finding it extremely difficult to get them to SAY anything. They seem far too happy to just sit about in silence and smile. Which is fine, but doesn't make for an interesting piece of fiction. Anyone like to give me a phrase to slip in at some point? Not too out there, but I'm open to offers!

*Someone somewhere (I've read far too much fanfiction recently) quoted Shakespeare's 'Silence is the perfectest herald of joy. I were but little happy if I could say how much.' from Much Ado about Nothing, which I think serves them well. Not wanting to plagiarise, I've gone for them acting out silence instead…..


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** ** _My goodness. Thank you all for your lovely reviews! It's quite staggering to get them, and great to know that you like it all. This chapter is considerably longer, because they would keep staring at each other and just going 'OMG, we're engaged. How'd that happen?!', and then when they started talking, they just wouldn't get to the point._**

 ** _I don't own these characters, they own me. And belong to JF of course._**

They had slipped seamlessly back into the crowd heartily singing carols, making sure they stood a little further apart than they really wanted to, lest the temptation to hold hands proved too great. By mutual, but silent, consent they each moved to a different side of the hall, after the carols had finished, chatting with the tenant farmers and making sure they had everything they needed. It was not until half an hour had passed, therefore, that Mrs Hughes found herself near enough to Mrs Patmore to talk to her.

'I can't see Anna anywhere. Has she gone back to the cottage?'

Mrs Patmore grinned and gave a short laugh. 'Oh, I daresay she's done that alright!'

The joviality with which she spoke confused Mrs Hughes, given Anna's situation. 'Whatever do you mean?'

Mrs Patmore's grin widened. 'Only that Mr Bates has returned!'

Mrs Hughes gasped with delight, her hands grasping Mrs Patomore's. 'Does anyone know?'

She barely waited for an answer, but span around to scan the room. She couldn't see Lord Grantham, and thought he might have been forced to retire, but she spotted Lady Mary by the side of the Christmas tree with Lady Edith and Mr Branson and made her way over to them, dragging Mrs Patmore with her.

'Milady?!', she began – a perfectly normal way to begin a conversation, but the tearful happiness in her voice was enough to draw the attention of her quest.

'Mrs Hughes? What is it?

'I thought you'd like to know that Mr Bates has returned.'

'Oh! When did he arrive? Where is he?'

Mrs Hughes indicated that Mrs Patmore should fill in the details, delighting in the romantic way Anna had been surprised, before turning back to Mary. 'I wonder if we might send a note to let Anna know she won't be needed tomorrow? I'm sure Madge or Miss Baxter could perform her duties.'

'Oh yes, of course Mrs Hughes. This is really such marvellous news! It's such a relief, and at Christmas too!'

'Yes!', agreed Mrs Hughes, 'They deserve all the happiness they can get!'

Her voice cracked at this point and she felt tears spring into her eyes. She was behaving most unprofessionally and the small group were all looking at her with slight alarm. All, that is, except Mary, who shared a knowing smile with the housekeeper and said 'They do indeed.', patting her arm as she did so.

'Is everything alright?' Mr Carson, in full butler mode, had spotted the tight knit, and slightly unusual, group and sensed an emotional atmosphere.

'Mr Bates has returned!' said Mrs Hughes, smiling up at him, her eyes still shining with unshed tears.

'Oh. That is good.' He allowed himself a brief smile, feeling anything more would break the fragile shield with which he had encircled his emotions. Turning to his left he said, 'Lady Mary, the tenants are beginning to depart, and Lady Grantham asked if you would bid them farewell. She thought Lord Grantham should retire.'

Mary laughed. 'He did hit the punch rather hard! Poor Papa. Come on Edith.' And she swept off towards the front door.

'Well I never!' exclaimed Mrs Patmore, although she chose to remain silent on precisely which event of the past few minutes had so surprised her. 'I'm dead on me feet. Think I'll turn in.'

'I need to send a hallboy to the cottage with a note, so Anna knows she's not needed. I don't suppose you would manage to pack a luncheon for them, Mrs Patmore?'

'What's one picnic on top of feeding this army?', joked the cook.

Mrs Hughes smiled and nodded her thanks. 'I'll see you in the morning then.' She turned away to the servants quarters, not even sparing Mr Carson a glance – if she had, she didn't think her smile would have borne Mrs Patmore's scrutiny.

Having sent Martin, the hallboy, haring off to the cottage, Mrs Hughes spent a few minutes in her sitting room attempting to gather her thoughts. The clatter of footmen bringing down the glasses gradually subsided and the staff all trooped off to bed, some of them calling 'goodnight!' down the corridor to her, but mercifully she was left alone to sit and daydream – an activity she rarely indulged in, but tonight she seemed determined to build castles in the air, her mind running through every question that his proposal had thrown up.

Lost in thought as she was, she missed the sound of his measured tread on the stairs, and it wasn't until she suddenly heard a little cough announcing his presence in her doorway that she even noticed she was no longer alone. He had obviously paused at his pantry, for he was holding the two previously discarded glasses of punch.

'Good evening Mrs Hughes.', he said, leaning slightly against the door frame, seemingly content to just stand and look at her, a smile twinkling in his eyes, even if it hadn't reached his lips.

'Oh don't just stand there, Mr Carson', she responded, getting to her feet and dragging 'his' chair over to the one she'd been sitting in. 'You look like a lost … bear!'

'Do bears often get lost?', he asked, sounding amused but refusing to budge from his relaxed position against her doorframe.

'Perhaps not, but you're hardly a sheep, are you?'

'Baaaa' was all the response she got, but he did at last move into the room to stand in front of her, firmly holding the punch glasses, in a strange role reversal of earlier in the evening. She could barely contain her mirth at this unexpected utterance and looked between him and the door in mock confusion.

'Alright – what have you done with Mr Carson?'

'He's been replaced by an old booby.'

'I make no apologies for calling you that.'

'I don't ask for any.'

Silence, it seemed, was to become a running theme of their evening, for once again they both found themselves unable to voice the thoughts which were chasing around their brains. She wondered if perhaps they ought to sit, but she couldn't quite remember how the action was performed. Besides which, she was becoming quite lost in his eyes and she didn't want to break the connection.

He evidently thought that _some_ words were needed, and as he finally handed her the punch (making _very_ sure that their fingers brushed as he did so), he grinned and said 'So, Mr Bates? That's some Christmas present for Anna.'

She nodded and was all prepared to speak, but found that the tears which had threatened all evening had grown tired of being held back, and a sob forced itself from her throat rather than the words she had meant to say.

She managed to set down the punch (seemingly destined to remain undrunk by her) before the second sob broke free, and she brought her hand up to try and stifle the sounds she was making. It seemed more than a little ridiculous that she was standing in front of the man she was to marry, sobbing her heart out, but try as she might, she found she simply couldn't stop. She wasn't even sure what she was crying about anymore, it certainly extended beyond Anna. It possibly went back as far as William.

In the few second following her initial sob, Mr Carson has stood transfixed. The old Mr Carson would have attempted comfort by gently chiding that this wasn't like her. The old Mr Carson would have been flustered. The old Mr Carson hadn't been in love. The new Mr Carson, however, was a man very much at the mercy of this emotion, and had the happy security of having his love accepted. The new Mr Carson knew precisely what to do.

Mr Carson set down his cup of punch, closed the gap between them and drew Mrs Hughes into his arms, allowing her to cry against his waistcoat. He said nothing, but one hand circled her shoulder, whilst the other cradled her head. He rested his chin on the top of her hair very lightly, and stood waiting for the torrent to cease.

Eventually her sobs grew less and then stopped altogether, and she felt calm enough to pull out of his embrace, braving raising her tear stained face to his, and was met by a pair of concerned brown eyes. And the offer of a handkerchief.

'I'm so sorry Mr Carson!'

'Don't apologies. It sounded as if it were needed.

Their conversation was interrupted by the bang of the back door.

'Oh good heavens. Martin! Could you …?'

She didn't even need to complete the request, for he had already stepped into the hall and intercepted Martin.

'All sorted Mr Carson.', said the lad cheerfully. 'I pushed it under the door as Mrs Hughes told me, but Anna must've heard because she opened the door as I was going and wished me a happy Christmas. Gave me a kiss too!' The young lad blushed and rubbed his cheek slightly, receiving a benevolent smile from Mr Carson.

'Very well, thank you Martin. Off to bed with you now.'

Martin scampered up the stairs, and Mr Carson turned back into the room, finding Mrs Hughes sitting on one of the chairs, dabbing away the last traces of her tears.

She smiled up at his entrance, however, and patted the chair beside her.

'I must look a sight!'

'You look beautiful.', he said, claiming the seat beside her and drawing her hands in his.

'Really Mr Carson! There's no need for flattery.'

'But you do.', he insisted, rubbing his thumb over her upper hand. 'You always have done, even if I didn't truly recognise it.'

She shook her head slightly, trying to make sense of it all, and looked up at him through her lashes.

'You asked me to marry you!'. Shock and laughter etched the words. She was still having difficulty taking it all in.

'You said yes!', he responded

'As if I would have answered you in any other way. You didn't _really_ think I would refuse did you?' The rueful smile he gave her answered the question better than words.

'You did doubt!', she gasped. 'And I teased you rather than giving my answer straight away.' She cupped her hand to his cheek, 'I'm so sorry, my love!'

The endearment slipped out so naturally that she forgot she hadn't said it before, but if her words caused such delight to spring into his eyes every time she said it, she thought she'd mention it at every opportunity she got.

'You do love me then?' he said, speaking as quietly as his gravelly voice allowed. Leaning his face into her touch, he went on to grasp her wrist and placed a small, but deeply reverential, kiss to the middle of her palm.

She almost forgot a reply was required, so greatly was she affected, but his eyes had never left hers as he kissed her hand, and somehow the words sprang forth on their own volition.

'I love you so much I can hardly believe it to be possible. It's quite amazing my feelings should have grown even since this morning, but then again, I had fear to contend with too, and now that's gone, there's space to be filled.'

'What were you fearful of?'

She looked down at their joined hands resting on his knee, where they had fallen after his kiss, and knitted her brow as she tried to explain what had been going through her mind.

'I was so pleased you'd bought the house. You deserve it. But it brought the inevitability of your retirement that bit nearer, and when you suggested talking tonight, I felt sure you were going to tell me your decision!'

'You thought I'd leave you here?', he asked, with a touch of incredulity in his voice.

She nodded. 'It would have been like Haxby all over again. Only a hundred times worse.' A single tear slid down her cheek as her voice cracked at the memory.

'Is Haxby when you knew?'

'I honestly couldn't …', she broke off with a laugh, and looked up at him, making the little moué with her lips, which she did whenever she was particularly amused. 'If I'm not careful, I'll start sounding like a Jane Austen novel. In the middle before I knew I'd begun, and everything! I'm not letting you in on all my secrets in one night, Mr Carson!'

'And how are you at keeping secrets?', he asked, his eyes twinkling. He had said it to tease, knowing full well that she was Downton's keeper of the keys in every way, and those keys locked more than actual doors. For the first time that evening, however, a shadow passed over her face.

He started to bluster that he hadn't meant anything by it (missing her quiet 'far better than you know'), but was soon silenced by the press of her hand on his.

'I would normally say I'm quite proficient, Mr Carson', she gave him a half smile, 'But I don't think that even my skills would stand this test.'

He exhaled as he realised he hadn't ruined the quiet happiness of the evening and grasped her hands in gratitude.

'I thought so. I feel the same, and I've been thinking …. I have a proposal for you.'

'Another! My my!' She raised an eyebrow and smiled at him encouragingly, for he was obviously nervous. Even if his face hadn't taken on that same breathless quality it had had before he'd received her full answer, the grip he had on her hands told her as much.

'Well … erm. I've given Mr Barrow the day off from attending to his Lordship. Said I'd do it myself. He's likely to be fragile after this evening. I wondered if I should …. Well. Would you mind if I told him the news then?'

'On Christmas morning?' She looked skeptical and chewed her bottom lip in thought.

'I know it's not the best moment, given our positions, but we've waited so long to acknowledge our feelings, that I don't want to waste another moment. Besides,' he said, his practical side finally making an appearance, 'We can then announce the news to the family and staff at the same time, when presents are given out.'

'But what if he doesn't like the idea?' What if he's so angry that he fires us?'

'I honestly don't think he would do that, and even if he did, we would still need to work our notice. It's not like sacking a footman. But I truly believe he will take the news well, and be glad for us.'

'But what about where we'll live?', she said, jumping up from her seat and pacing around the room. 'What about our plans to retire? We've not even set a date!' She had grown agitated, wringing her hands slightly, and drawing her bottom lip more firmly between her teeth as she paced about, distractedly throwing out all the questions which had occurred to her in the last few hours.

He stood and paced a hand on her shoulder, which stilled her pacing almost immediately. He turned her to him and waited until she raised her eyes to his.

'We'll cross those bridges when we come to them.', he said gently. 'But don't you think it better to have our news in the open, so we can discuss things with the family, rather than presenting them with a fait accompli or ultimatum?'

She drew a great breath, closing her eyes as she did so and held it for a few seconds. As she exhaled, she opened her eyes and found his immediately, smiling up at him.

'Very well. You're very convincing, Mr Carson.'

'I love you. I want to do what's best …. What?'

This last word was uttered in bafflement as he was graced by the most dazzling smile she had yet bestowed on him.

'That's the first time you've properly said it.'

'Is it? How remiss.' He leaned down slightly, looking her square in the eyes. 'I love you Mrs Elsie Hughes.'

'And I love you Mr Charles Carson.'

This declaration brought a natural silence with it, as they stood in the middle of her sitting room, smiling at each other, until a look of determination crossed Mr Carson's face.

'I wonder if …' he started to say, then changed tack and simply said 'excuse me' before he cupped her face in his hands and gently lowered his lips to hers. The touch was brief, fleeting really, before he pulled back. But it was only to make sure that she was happy. He had received no sound of protest and so his lips returned to hers.

For her part, she hadn't expected that he would kiss her tonight and was momentarily flummoxed by the experience. What on earth was she to do with her hands? They wavered in mid air as he pulled back, and then covered his at the base of his neck as he deepened the kiss. She responded gladly, allowing him to deepen the embrace slightly, before he pulled back and stood looking down at her in wonder. He drew his hands away from her face, but took her with him, so they were once again linked, allowing themselves to savour the precious new experience.

'I should retire.', she said eventually, somewhat wistfully. 'And so should you. It's going to be an eventual day tomorrow.'

He nodded, raising his eyebrows at the expectation and released one of her hands so she could open the door. She wasn't able to go through it, given he still held the other, and she pointedly looked down at their entwined fingers before looking back up at him. 'You need to let me go, Mr Carson.'

'Don't you remember, Mrs Hughes? You're stuck with me now.'

He drew the hand he still held to his lips and repeated his earlier actions, kissing first her knuckles, then her palm, before drawing her back to him to place a light, but heartfelt, kiss on her lips, before finally letting himself release her hand.

'Goodnight, Mr Carson' was all she managed to say, before forcing herself to walk down the passage and climb the stairs, knowing he had followed her out of the room and was watching her ascent from the foot of the stairs.

She paused and turned when she reached the top to send him a smile, and then was on her way to bed to prepare for the adventure of tomorrow that the opening of his heart and the giving of his hand had brought about.

 ** _A/N: Firstly – thank you all so much for your fab reviews! It's such a boost to know you enjoyed it!_**

 ** _Secondly: The inspiration for the kiss was the deleted scene from Emma Thompson's version of Sense and Sensibility. It's here: watch?v=Np9go267v_A (if ff lets me post a link. Never done that before. If not, it's on my tumblr.)_**

 ** _Thirdly: The third (and I think final) chapter will be a while coming. In 'real life' I'm completing a Masters, and have to make a start on my dissertation. Introduction needs to be sent to my highly demanding supervisor on 6_** ** _th_** ** _July, so it's all systems go. I might get some time to write next weekend, but I'm not making any promises. I also need to decide how I go about it all …. I like the idea of only seeing events through both their eyes (a la Jane Austen, who never wrote a scene with just men, because she didn't have first hand experience), so I'm trying to figure out how to go about it all. Bear with me!_**


	3. Chapter 3

**_A/N: So, I was going to wait and post 'Christmas day' all in one go, but it's turning into a long old thing, and I think it would be better divided. Luckily, there's a natural point for that to happen. Thank you for all your lovely reviews and for your patience. I hope you enjoy this. I was a bit worried that they were all a bit out of character, but hopefully you can see them all doing what they do. I've also watched the season 2 Christmas special a number of times, trying to sort out the routine, but my apologies if it's not quite right (I think it's church – presents – staff lunch – dinner for the family)_**

 ** _Christmas day – part 1._**

One of the advantages of having been in service for almost fifty years, and a farm girl in the depths of Scotland before that was that Mrs Hughes was well trained in rising from slumber in the dark, and she was usually wide awake and rustling about her room long before the junior maids did the rounds. She had an alarm clock too, but it was rarely used, and then only after particularly exhausting events.

On this particular Christmas morning, Elsie Hughes had been awake since six, but had forced herself to stay in her room, rather than venturing down to the servants' hall. Mrs Patmore would, no doubt, be in the throes of preparing the various feasts everyone was to enjoy later in the day, and she did not feel up to any sort of interrogation as to the reason behind her high running emotions from the previous night. She did not feel like having her secrets pried from her by the careful, but direct, questions the cook might fire at her.

She had dressed carefully that morning. Briefly contemplating lacing her corset slightly tighter than usual, she had instead scolded herself for the vanity. Mr Carson evidently appreciated her as she was, and it would be ridiculous if she were to faint whilst performing her duties, all because love was threatening to turn her into nothing better than a flighty maid. She paid more attention to her hair than usual, however, and decided to pin a brooch to the neck of her dress. No one would think it out of place, if they even noticed it. She could always claim Christmas as the reason if they did.

As she moved about her room, she thought back on all that had happened the previous day. She had forced herself to go to sleep rather than dwell on everything, knowing that if she did, sleep would never come. Now she could fully indulge the memories. She felt her heartbeat pick up slightly as the way Mr Carson had looked at her as he proposed slid across her mind. The dear man had appeared so fragile, so hopeful, yet determined not to force her into anything. It was amazing to think she held the power to make him as happy as he had declared himself to be. She gave a little sigh of contentment and smiled to herself in the mirror. He held that power too.

She was still not entirely convinced that they should reveal their plans to the Granthams' right away. There was a tiny part of her that wanted to nurture this new tendril of feeling quietly and without fuss. The sensible side of her, however, knew this would prove to be impossible. Even if they did manage to keep the actual proposal just between them, someone would be bound to pick up on a slightly too lingering glance, or a touch where none had happened before. His kiss had unlocked something too, and as wanton as it made her feel to realise it, she didn't think she would be able to do without the activity being repeated. This was not a hole and corner affair, destined to flare brightly and burn quickly. They knew their hearts, had been acquainted with them for many years, and now they had both allowed themselves to speak, it was only fitting they did so in full voice, rather than whispers.

With that in mind, she had come to one very important decision since her early rise that morning. She had fractiously worried about not having set a date, and now she was suddenly absolutely sure that a wedding around Easter would be perfect. Early April was always a glorious time of year, no matter if the sun actually shone, for the daffodils were always a natural substitute. She would suggest it before Mr Carson when to dress Lord Grantham.*

Mr Carson. As his name flitted across her mind, she found herself desirous to look upon the man himself. Morning was just around the corner, she could tell, for the sky had taken on that depth of darkness which signalled it was soon to be shattered by the sun, and she took this as her cue that it was time to face the day, with all the challenges it would present.

As she descended the stairs, her eyes were immediately drawn to the Butler's pantry, but although the door was open, the man himself was not inside. Tamping down her disappointment, she moved towards the kitchen, where the sounds of activity signalled that Mrs Patmore was already hard at work on the preparations, but had yet to reach the fever pitch that left no room for casual conversation. Mrs Hughes stepped lightly into the kitchen and smiled at her friend, who was taking a moment to have a sip of tea.

'Good morning Mrs Patmore! Merry Christmas!

'Same to you!' The cook looked down at her cup, smiling slightly, and then cocked her head to one side. 'Do you know why Mr Carson's been tramping about my herb gardens with a torch for the last half hour?'

'I've not the faintest idea', replied Mrs Hughes, trying not to look too alarmed by this fact. 'Perhaps he's making it look like Father Christmas has really visited, for the children's sake?'

'Hmmm. Because that's _exactly_ where the Crawley children are going to look. He's behaving very oddly.'

'Well, when I find out the cause, I'll get him to come and explain himself.', replied Mrs Hughes with a breeziness she did not feel. If Mr Carson had cracked under the pressure, there really was no hope for her. 'I must go and double check the presents are all labelled correctly.' She escaped to her sitting room before more comments on the oddity of Mr Carson could be made.

What on earth was he up to? She laughed to herself at the image Mrs Patmore had conjured up. What would a butler want with herbs? She didn't have long to meditate upon possible answers, for she heard the back door bang shut, and quickly stuck her head out of her door, making sure he saw her before ducking back inside. She didn't think Mrs Patmore would have registered her return above the noise in the kitchen, and she didn't want her beloved to be intercepted by calling his name and alerting the cook to the returning 'miscreant'.

'Good morning, Mrs Hughes.', he said as he entered and shut the door behind him. She could hear the smile in his voice, even if he managed to keep his features under some control.

'Good morning! Mrs Patmore tells me you've been trampling her herbs – what were ….?'

Her words were cut short, for he had taken her hand as she started speaking and drawn his thumb over it, before kissing the top, turning it over to place another kiss on her palm. He them pulled her to him to kiss her lips. She dimly registered that his other hand was placed on her shoulder in an effort at propriety, which the pressure of lips completely belied.

'Oh', she breathed. 'Is this triptych going to become a tradition?'

'Perhaps' he murmured.

'Well I don't see why you should have all the fun!', she countered, drawing his hand to her lips, brushing his knuckles with her lips, before mirroring her earlier actions and turning his hand over to place a kiss where she believed his heart line to be etched on his palm. She smiled up at him, marvelling that her actions appeared to have rendered him speechless. Her smile broadened as she rose up on her toes, sliding her hand up to his neck to ensure she didn't overbalance, and kissed him on the mouth. It was the first time she had initiated such contact, and it was a heady power indeed.

She drew back after a moment's contact, loathe to break the connection, but knowing their emotions were placed on a cliff edge, and she didn't want to send them tumbling into the abyss so early in the day.

He sighed at the loss of her, and took a few moments to collect his thoughts before he opened his eyes to find her gazing off to the side, a small smile playing on her lips.

'I didn't trample anything.', he said.

She laughed, grateful for a topic of conversation. She was about to ask him what he _had_ been doing, but saw that he was reaching into his jacket's inner pocket. He draw out a bundle of different herbs, which he grandly presented to her.

'A bouquet of herbs, which I hope speak as boldly of my feelings as any flowers might.'

She was astounded. As housekeeper, she knew well the secret meaning of flowers and plants, but she had never imagined it would have also formed part of his study.

'What are they all? I'm not sure I can distinguish. That's mint, obviously.'

'Indeed. That's fennel', he said touching one plant. 'That's coriander, there's a bit of rue just there, and _that_ is feverfew. I wanted to add some Phlox, but didn't think a dark walk in the woods was wise.'

'What does Phlox represent?' she whispered, her voice cracking. She was truly overwhelmed bu the sentiments he had just expressed by means of the small plants in her hands.

'Have a look and see', he said, nodding his head towards her copy of 'The Language of Flowers' that resided on her shelf.

She laid the herbs gently on her desk and drew the book down. 'Does it start with a P or F?' she queried, as she turned the pages, not trusting herself to look at him.

'P' he answered, keeping his eyes trained on her face.

She flipped a section over and found the page she needed, her finger tracing the page as she scanned the entries. A slight hitch in her breathing told him she had found the word she was looking for, and then a gasp indicated she had divined the meaning. 'Oh _Charles!_ ', she breathed looking up at him with such adoration, he didn't think he could stand the slight distance between them, and he stepped towards her, reaching out to draw his fingers down her cheek, where they were wetted by the few silent tears she had shed.**

'I love you so very much.', he said, drawing her into his arms, heedless of the book that was still in her hands. She merely hummed with pleasure and nestled her head into his chest.

'I've been thinking. Perhaps it would be a good idea to at least have a wedding date to present to his lordship when I tell him our news. What do you say to an Easter wedding?'

She drew her head back, smiling lazily up at him. 'Phlox indeed, Mr Carson!'

His eyes crinkled as a smile spread across his face and he drew her back into his embrace. He wasn't about to tell her he had spent much of the night awake, sitting in the armchair his bedroom boasted, contemplating how very lucky he was and thinking over all the questions she had brought up in her worry about Lord Grantham's reaction. Whilst he was sure things would go their way, a little of the nervousness she had experienced had managed to rub off on him. Setting a date seemed the easiest worry to assuage, and it appeared that they were miraculously in tune on the subject. It was rare that they weren't, but this was unchartered territory and needed different navigational skills. He knew well that his faults could lead to exasperation on her part, and he didn't want to spoil this new found happiness. He didn't expect that they would magically cease to argue altogether, but he hoped they had reached a new level of agreement.

Mrs Hughes pulled back slightly and drew the fennel out the bundle on her desk. 'You'd better go and give this to Mrs Patmore, whilst you think up a reason for your expedition. I told her you were pretending to be Father Christmas. I really don't think she believed me! Perhaps telling her you think she's 'worthy of all praise' will distract her from her questions!'

'As you wish.' He smiled at her, taking the fennel, managing to brush the inside of her wrist as he did so. And then he was gone, to face the interrogation tactics of the cook. She was suddenly glad they only had a few more hours of secrecy to endure. It was enough to try the patience of a saint.

Breakfast, thankfully, was completed as normally as possible. The rest of the staff, whilst excited about the Christmas festivities, were respectful of Mr Carson's wishes for decorum (although if they'd all started doing the Charleston around the table, he probably would have cared very little), and no one seemed to pick up on any tension.

Soon the upstairs bells were ringing, and Mr Carson was off to do his duty. Thomas looked a little perplexed as to why his position had been usurped, but soon shrugged it off to settle down with last week's Illustrated London News. Mrs Hughes had stayed at her place at the head of the table and took her time finishing her tea, and tried not to think about the variety of possible conversations that could be playing out above her head. She couldn't continue sitting there indefinitely, however. Thomas was starting to send her calculating glances, so she moved back to her sitting room. He'd been gone ages! Half an hour at least! A look at her clock told her it had really only been ten minutes. This was going to be torture.

The torture for Mr Carson had begun when he had arrived in the dressing room to find Lord Grantham sitting on the bed, head in his hands, groaning loudly and clearly suffering from the over indulgence of the previous evening. He had decided not to begin the conversation until his Lordship was fully dressed, but it had taken so long just to get the man into his shirt and trousers, never mind the rest of the paraphernalia, that the butler had lost patience and delicately brought up the fact that he intended to get married and Mrs Hughes was his chosen bride.

He now found himself being stared at by his employer, as Robert Crawley lowered himself onto the bed and looked up in amazement at the man before him.

'Milord …?', Carson questioned, beginning to worry as the stunned silence lengthened between them. It was not a comfortable sort of silence.

'Would you repeat that Carson?' Lord Grantham croaked.

Mr Carson was about to speak, feeling that perhaps Elsie had been right, and this hadn't been the moment, when the connecting door opened, and Cora glided in, fully dressed, but with her hair cascading down her back.

'What on earth is keeping you, Robert? We're going to be late for church!'

Robert groaned again, massaging his temple. 'Urgh. Cora, do I _have_ to go? I'm horribly hungover and Carson's getting married.'

Cora's eyes lit up at this last statement, but to her credit she said nothing, instead turning back into their bedroom. Carson heard the outer door close as Miss Baxter departed. 'Oh thank God!' he thought, even as Cora reappeared at the doorway and beckoned the two staggered men into the room. Mrs Hughes had been sent for. She would be able to explain it, and restore reason.

Mrs Hughes had gone to fetch a glass of water – anything to stop her hands from twitching – when she heard the extremely hurried steps on the stairs. Miss Baxter appeared, looking breathless and rather confused. 'Oh, Mrs Hughes. Her ladyship wants to see you immediately. I don't know why… I think his Lordship could do with a headache powder though', she added as she spied the water in the housekeeper's hand, and rushed off to get one.

'Thank you Miss Baxter', said Mrs Hughes as the other woman returned with the medicine. 'Let's be off then.'

'Oh, I'm supposed to stay down here until you return', replied Miss Baxter, looking even more confused.

Mrs Hughes sighed, attempting to look like this was all the greatest inconvenience, and started off up the stairs, muttering. She wondered if she wasn't overplaying her annoyance a little. Inside, her heart leapt about like a flight of butterflies.*** She hadn't expected this, nor for Lady Grantham to be involved. Although, to be fair, she wasn't entirely sure _what_ she had expected.

Arriving at the bedroom door, she paused to steel herself, knocked, and entered. Lord Grantham was sitting on the edge of the bed, head leaning of one hand, Lady Grantham was posed, hands clasped before her, by the dressing table, and Mr Carson hovered by the dressing room door, looking like he felt it highly improper to be there at all. His eyebrows were knit together. Not a good sign.

Professionalism was what was needed and therefore her first action was to present the headache powder to Lord Grantham.

'Oh Mrs Hughes', he groaned appreciatively, 'You're a perfect marvel!'

'Yes, she is.' agreed a low voice across the room.

She shot him a half smile, but also rolled her eyes slightly at the situation they found themselves in.

'So, Mrs Hughes', Cora began, realising that her husband was still too shocked to take charge, 'Is it true? Mr Carson's asked you to marry him?'

'He has, Milady.' It took supreme effort to control the smile which bubbled up.

'And you've accepted him?'

'I have.' There was no stopping the smile then. It shone forth and dazzled both her employers. Cora knew the depth of feeling that lay behind that smile, for she had felt it herself. Robert had once inspired such a smile and was flabbergasted by the force of it, just as he had been some thirty five years ago. There was no doubting this was a love match.

Cora gave a little laugh and clapped her hands, rather like an excited child, and moved towards her housekeeper. 'That's marvellous news! I'm so very happy – for you both!' She turned to smile at Mr Carson and then pressed two warm kisses to Mrs Hughes' highly flushed cheeks.

There was no time to react to this American display and wonder what it meant as a high pitched 'Donk! Donk!' was heard in the corridor, before the door was flung open to reveal Sybbie, dragging a stumbling George behind her.

'Donk! Father Christmas has been and ….!'

The excited girl stopped abruptly in the middle of the room as she started at the unlikely inhabitants. 'Hello Mr Carson!' she said seriously.

'Children!' came a queenly voice from the corridor, 'Nanny is looking for you …. Oh!'

Lady Mary entered the room and looked even more surprised than Sybbie to see who was in the room. 'Whatever is going on?'

The children were being shepherded out of the room as she asked this, and Mrs Hughes felt her knees begin to buckle beneath her. To have Lady Mary discover the news before they had even found out whether they were dismissed was too much, and before anyone could answer the question, she found herself swaying.

Thankfully Cora had kept her eyes on Mrs Hughes throughout these last moments of drama, and swiftly produced her dressing table chair for the woman to sink on to.

Whatever her faults, Lady Mary could be considerate when she chose, and she immediately moved to take the housekeeper's hand. 'Are you alright Mrs Hughes? Will _someone_ please tell me what's happened!'

'Mrs Hughes and I are getting married.' Mr Carson answered the question, not taking his eyes from the woman who had almost fainted. He wondered if she'd slept at all.

'When?' Mary was hard to read at the best of times and now she seemed to be in practical mode; no trace of emotion showed on her face. The question seemed to have been asked automatically. A natural response to this type of news, no matter that it was _Carson_ giving it.

'We were thinking Easter.' A simple response seemed the best course of action.

'Are you retiring?' _Now_ the emotion showed. She looked worried at what the answer might be. She had looked to Mrs Hughes, but although she seemed to have recovered, Mr Carson was the one to formulate a reply.

'We have no wish to at present, but we'd not quite reached that question with your parents.'. He turned to look at Lord Grantham, who was contemplating his hands. The silence grew (again), as even Cora knew this was something Robert must answer. An exasperated 'Papa!' drew him out of his reverie.

'You will excuse me. I'm horribly hungover and my Butler has been transformed into a romantic. I won't deny I'm shocked. It's a lot to take in, and I've always been slow to accept change.' He looked at the couple, Mrs Hughes' face betraying the tension of the moment. His decision was a Damocles sword hanging over them both.

Robert smiled. 'But I always _do_ accept it. I couldn't be happier for you both, and I would be delighted for you to continue working here for as long as you wish. We'll discuss the finer points, living arrangements and all that, at a later date. When I'm not late for church.'

The relief the engaged couple felt was palpable and at last Mrs Hughes felt strong enough to stand up. 'Thank you Milord', she said, her voice trembling slightly. 'We wondered if you might announce it before presents are given out later?'

'Of course. Carson, do we have any of the '11 Pommery left? We should do this properly and toast your happiness.'****

Carson's eyebrows rose so high that they almost disappeared into his hairline, but before he could begin to splutter about the 'waste' of the vintage, Mrs Hughes very gently laid her hand on his arm (a gesture not lost on the sensibilities of Lady Grantham and Lady Mary) and simply said 'That's very generous of you, Milord, thank you.'

Having recovered her equilibrium, or most of it at any rate, Mrs Hughes decided a retreat was needed, and after a brief discussion about the logistics of the announcement, left the bedroom, with Mr Carson following close behind.

When they got to the entrance to the servant's stairs, however, Mr Carson caught hold of his beloved's hand and indicated with a tilt of his head that they should go _up_ rather than down.

'Whatever in the world …?' Mrs Hughes started to ask.

'We need a moment to ourselves, and we won't get it down there. Even if no one has started putting things together, there'll still be the inevitable interruptions.', came the logical reply.

They made their way upstairs to the servant's quarters, pausing by the door which separated the two sides. Neither made any move to open it, however, both fully mindful of the warnings they had given the various maids and footmen over the years. Mrs Hughes leaned, instead, with her back against the door, feeling the coolness of the glass even through her dress and drew a long breath, choosing to focus on her feet. Mr Carson leaned casually on his left side against the wall – a posture he would have reprimanded Jimmy for, but which seemed quite natural to him now.

'Are you alright?', he asked, when she exhaled but did not look up from her close inspection of the floor.

'If you _ever_ try to persuade me to break important news to someone who is hungover again, I shall remind you of this day.' She sounded like she was trying to joke, to make light of the tension they had both experienced, but he could tell something was still troubling her.

'That's not all is it?'

She shook her head, and it worried him that her gaze still refused to meet his. He sighed gently. Not in his usual exasperation, but rather in understanding at the momentous changes they were facing. Tentatively, he lifted his hand and gently (but with a purpose that would not allow her to resist him) raised her chin so that her eyes met his for the first time since they had left Lady Grantham's bedroom.

'Won't you share it with me?'

She gave a wry smile, but affection poured from her eyes as she appreciated his sensitivity. The hand that ad raised her chin now found hers and he squeezed her fingers in assurance.

'You'll think me very changeable! I once told you they weren't my family. I belittled your attachment. But I'm more relieved by their reaction and acceptance than I thought I would be. I realised during Lord Grantham's silence that I wouldn't have been able to bear it if we had had to leave under a cloud. Not just for your sake. I find I am more attached to the Crawleys than I knew. Do you think me very silly?' She looked down briefly, but was reassured by another squeeze of his hand and raised her head again.

'I think you a woman with a warm and very large heart.', he said, his eyes gleaming with love and pride. 'and it's only natural that you should feel a connection when you've been here so long. Twenty five years this Christmas in fact.'

She was momentarily surprised that he had remembered. Neither of them was prone to keeping track of that sort of thing, but then he had proved to be full of surprises recently. She was about to comment on this, when she noticed the gleam in his eye had shifted to something deeper. She felt his hand leave hers and travel slowly up her arm to cup her cheek. His lips tenderly brushed her other cheek and them moved slowly to her lips.

He had meant it to be a chaste embrace. A brief show of affection before they returned to the chaos downstairs. Perhaps it was the sigh that left her lips as he moved back. Perhaps it was the way her fingers gripped his shoulder. Perhaps it was the way she was already leant against the door, her body seemingly inviting his embrace. Perhaps it was a combination of all three. Whatever it was, one chaste kiss suddenly wasn't enough, and he returned his lips to hers, deepening the embrace.

Her arms had found their way up to twine about his neck and his hands were apparently no longer content to brush her face and they found a far sweeter place to fall, caressing the sweep of her corset before coming to rest on her waist. He had not allowed himself such liberties the night before, and now he understood why, because if she had made _that_ sound then, he would have found it a supreme test to allow her to retire for the night.

He leaned back to draw a ragged breath and was delightfully shocked by the 'Oh _Charles_ ' she uttered as she showed her appreciation whilst simultaneously lamenting the loss of contact. He chose to gather her to him, placing a number of kisses to her neck and breathing in the fragrance of her hair as he did so. Her fingers toyed with the hairs at the base of his neck, occasionally flicking up slightly higher, before drawing back, the tiny rational part of her brain functioning even through the passion she felt, which told her it wouldn't do for Mr Carson to appear _rumpled._

'We. Should. Go. Back. Down.', he said, punctuating each word with a kiss, forming a path from her neck to her lips, which he captured once more, passion positively pouring out of him.

With supreme effort she managed to use her hands to push him away rather than draw him to her, and smiled at him, feeling as breathless as if she'd dashed through the whole house.

'We should. There'll be a search party otherwise.'

She offered him her hand and pulled herself away from the door as he took it. They exchanged a knowing, loving, happy smile and turned to descend the stairs together, each of them drawing strength from the contact, which they knew they would need when the contents of their hearts were revealed to the world at large.

 _A/N:_

 _*Fun fact: Easter in 1925 fell on April 12_ _th_ _. I'm guessing from the last BTS photos, and knowing that it wasn't particularly sunny that easter would be a good choice. If the photos from today (29_ _th_ _June) are for a Chelsie wedding, then they'll get their sunshine. I'm not convinced._

 _** So, I made sure to only use herbs and flowers that would be around in December. Mint means 'warmth of feeling', fennel means 'worthy of all praise', coriander means 'hidden worth', rue means 'grace or clear vision' and feverfew means 'you light up my life'. Phlox (which is a small white flower which blossoms in woodland stands for 'our souls are united'. My feels are in a puddle, I have no idea how you're all faring!_

 _*** That's the actual collective noun for butterflies!_

 _**** An excellent Champagne vintage, apparently_

 _There we go ….. now we've got the announcement to get through, and maybe some more kisses. Goodness only knows when I'll be able to write that. I'm terribly worried about not doing Violet justice! Also – here's a stupid fact for you all. My dissertation is supposed to be 15,000 words, and this old story currently stands just shy of 10,000. Maybe I should change my topic and write about the art of Chelsie. There's loads out there. Never mind I've done months of research already …._


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 – Christmas day, part 2**

 **A/N: Thank you all for waiting! This features confused Molesley, sardonic Thomas, witty Violet, naughty Mrs Patmore, and even a cameo from Madge …. (not that she speaks, I couldn't afford that). I've spent some time wondering if parts of this are a bit over the top or out of character, and in the end decided it doesn't really matter, because this is my head canon of how I'd love it to turn out. Apologies for any errors, I've spent most of the day typing up dissertation notes and my fingers are exhausted!**

How they got through the next two hours without being found out was a mystery worthy of Sherlock Holmes, and one they were destined never to solve. On their return downstairs, Mrs Hughes had retreated into her sitting room, whilst Mr Carson requisitioned Mr Molesley and Andy for a trip to the cellar to fetch the newly required wine. Once they had returned from the chilly depths, fetched glasses and organised trays, Mr Carson attempted to fend off the questions the older footman was putting to him about the vintage.

As foolish and prone to appearing at precisely the wrong moment as he was, there was no doubt that Mr Molseley was quite astute when it came to the finer points of alcohol, and he was dubious about whether the mere event of Christmas warranted such a fine specimen. Being Molesley, of course, he saw no reason not to share his thoughts as soon as they entered his mind.

'Dare I suggest', said Mr Carson as the baffled footman continued to wonder aloud, 'that as it is his Lordship's wine, he may dispose of it in whatever manner he sees fit. Ours in not to wonder why.', he finished, in what he clearly thought was rather an eloquent manner.

'Just to do and die, eh Mr Carson?' Thomas had casually appeared from the servant's hall, where he'd been carefully dissecting Miss Baxter's account of her strange morning to see if there might be anything in it that would be to his advantage. It appeared that she was a false trail, however, and he found himself wondering if he had, for once, been letting his imagination run away with him, and the strange, expectant, atmosphere he had sensed since he awoke was more to do with the festive season than anything else. In a fit of generosity that was quite unlike him, he decided to let the matter rest and went outside for a smoke.

Half an hour later, Mrs Hughes left the security of her sitting room and went to gather the staff so they wouldn't straggle into the great hall in dribs and drabs. Mr Molesley's curiosity appeared to have spread, however, and she was immediately confronted by a determined (and slightly overheated) Mrs Patmore, who, shadowed by a nervous looking Miss Baxter and a peculiarly unruffled Daisy, proceeded to demand an explanation from the housekeeper as to why she had barely been viewed the whole morning and just had happened to warrant champagne during present giving. 'Never mind the vintage! I'm not sure I'd recognise it from fizzy elderflower, 'cept that it's bound to make me merrier quicker!'

'I'm sure you, of all people, understand that some duties can't be forgotten just because it's Christmas, Mrs Patmore!', replied the housekeeper, who was having a hell of a time keeping her composure. 'And your guess is as good as mine when it comes to the wine. You should ask Mr Carson.'

Having spotted him out of the corner of her eye, she deftly passed the responsibility back to him, not realising that her awareness of the man's every movement merely added grist to the mill of Mrs Patmore's varying conclusions on the fate of the two people who were dearest to her (although she'd never say so in so many words) and who she wished could just decide to be happy together.

'Time we were upstairs', he said as he moved past the group of women and towards the stairs. He didn't really trust himself to look properly at Mrs Hughes, but his hand seemed to have a mind of its own and made a twitchy movement towards hers, as if hoping the rest of his body would follow suit and allow him to capture her in his arms, consequences and Lord Grantham's announcement be damned. He didn't think anyone had seen, but proceeded to tug the bottom of his jacket to cover the movement, just in case.

Mrs Hughes _had_ seen, of course. In her present state of heightened sensitivity, she would have been aware of the slightest eyebrow lift, even with her back to him. Allowing herself the smallest of prideful smiles (really a twitch of her lips), which she aimed at the floor, she followed him up to the grand hall, a merry and chattering band of housemaids, footmen and hallboys traipsing after her. Daisy, Mrs Patmore, Miss Baxter, Molesley and Thomas looked at each other briefly and brought up the rearguard, acknowledging the fact that they all felt peculiarly baffled and as if they were missing a vital piece of information.

Upstairs, things had taken a turn for the curiouser. Tradition usually dictated that Carson stand near the family, whilst Mrs Hughes stood pretty much opposite, the maids ranged about her. As Mrs Patmore finally made into the hall, however, she saw that the two were standing next to each other, barely speaking, yet communicating loudly enough by non verbal means. The rest of the staff had fanned out until they reached Mrs Crawley who marked the finish of the 'family' side of the room. Mrs Hughes scanned the assembled crowd and when she caught sight of Mrs Patmore indicated, by the slight tilt of her head, that the cook should come and stand by her, a softness in her eyes suggesting how much it would mean to have her friend by her. Mrs Patmore moved to her appointed place, feeling suddenly very emotional. A great weight was pressing on her heart. Something was about to happen – she didn't like to guess what it could possibly be – and it would change everything.

This was it. This was the moment that their monumental decision would be revealed. Mr Carson's heart was merrily dancing a jig inside of him and his brain seemed to sing with delight. He cared only that once the next few moments had passed he would be able to acknowledge his feelings out loud. Essentially a very private man, the knowledge that he was about to enter a realm he had always supposed barred to him, since those fateful days in London, was enough to make him welcome the attention he was about to receive.

Mrs Hughes, always firm in her beliefs, and more willing to share her life's experiences (although still retaining that air of mystery which every model housekeeper should possess) found her thoughts to be rather more complicated. That some amongst the household might doubt that passion existed between the two, and wonder if this was anything more than companionship, mattered very little to her. They had declared their love to each other, done so in a dozen different ways, and still found that there was the promise of _more_. The pool of feelings was deep indeed. What mattered to her most at this precise moment was that their relationship should be  accepted and understood; that no one should scorn them for entering this new state at their time of life. Ignorance of their feelings mattered not one jot, but she didn't think she could stand scorn from those she had spent decades working with and caring for.

Glasses of champagne had been passed around by Mary, Tom and Edith as the last of the servants took their places (the Dowager Countess pointedly remarking in a stage whisper to Isobel that if Sir Richard Carlisle had witnessed such an event he would have probably succumbed to apoplexy on the spot) and as an expectant hush fell on the room, Lord Grantham stepped forward a pace or two and cleared his throat to ensure full attention.

'I'd like to take this opportunity to wish you all a very Happy Christmas. It is deeply heartening to see everyone gathered here to share in the celebrations. It has been a trying year for us all and we have all shared in the dramas. These dramas have served, however, to strengthen the bonds between the family and staff, and the Bates's reunion is testament to that. In their absence, I would like you all to raise your glasses and toast 'Mr and Mrs Bates.''

The dutiful reiteration of 'Mr and Mrs Bates' was murmured around the room, but the senior staff – including Mr Molesley, who was having one of his more perceptive moments – had a difficult time accepting that this was the reason wine had been introduced to the proceedings. Mrs Patmore hardly dared look to her left, but both Miss Baxter and Thomas, who were on the other side of the room, studied the faces of Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes, and found them to be prime examples of supreme tension, shot through with something that Thomas couldn't pin down, but Miss Baxter labelled as furtive happiness.

Lord Grantham cleared his throat again. 'There is, however, another bond which needs to be celebrated here today, which came as a great surprise to me when I learned of it, but which I have come to view at the most natural thing in the world. It gives me great pleasure to inform you all – and I hope gives you equal pleasure to hear of it – that Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes are to be joined in matrimony. They are to remain at Downton and the wedding will take place around Easter.'

Three things followed this announcement, which Mrs Hughes was never able to put into coherent order whenever she happened to think back on this event. Lady Rose actually squealed with delight, Mrs Crawley called out 'Bravo!', and Mr Carson smiled down at his bride to be (whose gaze had nervously fallen to the carpet) and slowly raised his right arm from his hand and offered his upturned hand to the woman standing next to him. She placed her left hand in his without a moment's hesitation and looked up to meet his eyes with a small, but perfectly content, smile blossoming on her lips.

Lord Grantham took this gesture (which pulled at the heartstrings of many members of the company) as a sign to continue and said, beaming around the room at the faces, most of whom looked like they couldn't _quite_ believe what they had just heard, 'I invite you all to raise your glasses and toast 'Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes!'

The response to this toast burst forth from the assembled mass far louder than the previous toast, and produced a smile from the couple so wide that it looked almost painful. They lifted their own glasses, acknowledging the warmth of the response and then slowly clinked their two glasses together and took a sip, neither relinquishing eye contact so that they moment was suddenly charged with meaning and promise.

'if ever the estate should require funds, Robert', came a stately yet querulous voice from across the room, 'you can always bottle Downton's water. There's clearly something in it which inspires romance.'

And suddenly the Dowager Countess; Lady Violet Grantham; the old bat herself, was sailing across the room, moving towards the couple who looked rather perturbed at her action. The Dowager reached them and stood before them, silently appraising them for moment, before quietly but firmly placing a hand on each of their arms. She said nothing further, but sighed slightly, caught both of them in her direct gaze and inclined her head in a slight, but authoritative, blessing.* These actions completed, she relinquished their arms and moved to take her son to task for keeping her in the dark.

No one else made a move to come to them; the staff were too well trained to break into an excited hubbub, however much they might have wanted to. Things simply fell back into the pattern of usual Christmases, only now that each person had collected their present and thanked the family, they moved on to the happy couple to offer their congratulations in their own way. Halfway through this parade of feelings and well wishes, Mrs Hughes realised that her friend standing to her right had not said a word since the announcement was made. Turning, she was concerned to find Mrs Patmore quietly sobbing into her handkerchief.

'Oh come now, Mrs Patmore! It's not that bad you know!'

Mrs Patmore gave a great sniff and withdrew the handkerchief to reveal a smile so wide it threatened to rival anything Mr Carson or Mrs Hughes could produce. 'Bad?!' she croaked incredulously, mopping her eyes which were still producing moisture despite her happiness. 'Oh you maddeningly humble woman! This is the best news I've had in years. I can't believe it _finally_ happened!'

As she was enveloped in an embrace which threatened to knock the breath out of her, Mrs Hughes heard the little huff which told her Mr Carson had taken exception to the word 'finally', and as she was released from Mrs Patmore's arms, she shot him a coy smile and shook her head to show him he should pay the words no mind. She could see the pride in his face and wondered how she had never really appreciated that look before. It was so possessive. He claimed her as his own with that look, and she had never imagined that would be a feature of her existence. Life was altering her – altering them both – once again. There were still things to be learned, to be experienced, and he would share it all with her. To know that she need never deal with things alone again was a fact that threatened to overwhelm her.

She was pulled from these thoughts by the soft voice of Lady Grantham, which indicated it was her time for presents. Handing her glass to Mr Carson and abandoning him (as she thought he would no doubt view it) to the effusions of Mrs Patmore, she crossed the hall. As she reached Lady Grantham, she saw that a small, unwrapped, velvet box lay atop the usual gift wrapped present. Cora was beaming at her benevolently and reached out to take her hand.

'Dear Mrs Hughes! I was looking through some old letters recently and was reminded that this will be your twenty fifth Christmas with us. It was the year we all got snowed in and Mary convinced Edith we'd never be free, wasn't it?'

Mrs Hughes gave a short laugh at the moment. 'It was Milady. Mr Carson reminded me of the anniversary only yesterday. I find it hard to believe it's been so many years.'

'Well. You work so hard, and have done so much for the family, that I wanted to give you something to mark the occasion.' She presented the two presents, tapping the top box. 'I found these, and thought they might suit you. They belonged to the first countess, although I've no idea why they've been hidden all these years.'

Mrs Hughes gave a gasp of surprise. 'That's very generous of you Milady. Shall I open it now?' She felt as if she did not deserve the praise the gift implied.

Cora smiled. 'I wish you would!'

The box was oblong and covered in dark green velvet, and as Mrs Hughes snapped it open, she found herself looking at a dainty pair of needlework scissors, very much like the ones that now hung as her waist, but of much finer quality. The handle was inlaid with mother of pearl which interlaced with the fine silverwork and the whole item shone brightly as if it were brand new and not over a hundred years old.

'They're beautiful Milady', Mrs Hughes looked up in gratitude, furrowing her brow as she continued. I'm not sure I deserve …'

'If anyone deserves them, it's you Mrs Hughes.' Cora said seriously, before adding in a slightly lower tone, 'I told you once that we would take care of you no matter what might happen, and although I know Mr Carson will do an excellent job, I want you to know that the offer stands should you ever have need of us.'

Mrs Hughes nodded, pressing her lips together so firmly they turned white. Luckily the rest of the staff had started to disperse, as she was the last to receive her gift, so she less of an audience as she tried to control her tempestuous emotions. As she turned, however, she saw that Mr Carson had remained in his place and had been watching the conversation. He smiled at her as she made her way towards him and held out his hand.

She took it gladly, hardly able to fathom the changes to her life which had happened all at once and so very suddenly. They moved towards the back stairs, but their progress was halted when someone tapped her on the shoulder. That someone turned out to be a broadly grinning Tom.

'Can I give the bride a hug, Mr Carson?'

Mrs Hughes laughed at the term, until she realised that was exactly what she was, which only made her laugh more.

'I don't think it matters _what_ he says, I'd love a hug, Mr Branson!', she said, the lilt in her voice much in evidence, as she opened her arms and enveloped Mr Branson in them. The move upstairs had changed him, of course, but he would forever feel that the woman was his champion. He had been moved beyond measure at the announcement and the simple actions of Mr Carson which completely expressed his emotions.

I'm only sorry I won't be here for your special day', he said, pulling back a bit to look her in the eye. 'It would have been my privilege to give you away.'

'Good gracious! That is something I'm going to have to consider, isn't it!' She turned to Mr Carson, expecting him to share her humour, only to find him looking very seriously at Mr Branson.

'We're going to miss you Mr Branson', he said, his words surprising everyone, including himself. 'Lady Sybil would be very proud of what you've achieved here.' He held out his hand which was quickly grasped by the other man and heartily shook.

Mrs Hughes watched this scene unfold through misty eyes. 'Used to him indeed!', she thought fondly. Clearly this was Carson code for deeper running emotions. She placed her hand on his arm, drawing his attention immediately. 'We should go downstairs. Mrs Patmore'll have our heads if we're late for lunch, engagement or not!'

He nodded in agreement, and taking their leave of Mr Branson, they made their way to the servant's hall. At the foot of the stairs, they found Mr Molesley who was clearly waiting for them, and looking quite uncomfortable.

'I've a message from Mrs Patmore', he said, shifting from one foot to the other.

'And what is that?', Mrs Hughes's face took on the encouraging, expectant look that seemed reserved for the footman.

It's not exactly proper!' he protested.

'Well, best get it over with', suggested Mrs Hughes, noticing Thomas leaning against the entrance to the hall, clearly in the know as to the message and enjoying Mr Molesley's discomfort.

'Mrs Patmore said to tell you that lunch will be ready in half an hour, and if at least one of you doesn't turn up slightly flushed or rumpled, she'll be very disappointed.' Mr Molesley said this very fast, and then fixed his eyes on an intriguing crack in the floor.

Mrs Hughes's lips twitched as she felt Mr Carson start to draw himself up in indignation, but before he could say anything, she inclined her head at Mr Molesley, rolled her eyes at Thomas and blithely replied, 'Duly noted, thank you Mr Molesley', before moving off down the corridor and into her sitting room, Mr Carson following close behind.

As the door closed behind him she broke into peals of laughter. 'Your face!', she burst out, in-between the giggles, as he stood before her opening and closing his mouth in a vain attempt to convey his feelings of embarrassment.

'She doesn't truly mean anything by it, my love.' Mrs Hughes had recovered and sought to appease his wounded pride. 'And I think I prefer her teasing to tears!'

He sighed in resignation and nodded in weary agreement. She was just beginning to wonder if he was about to get lost in contemplation when a broad smile broke across his face and he gave a deep chuckle.

'We're getting married!' he exclaimed, quite loudly given she was standing right next to him, and then in a sudden, swift, quite unexpected movement, he grasped her waist, lifted her clean off the floor and proceeded to spin her round and round.

'Mr Carson!' she exclaimed, gripping his shoulders in surprise. 'Charles! Put me down!'

He span he around once more before setting her back on her feet, but made no attempt to remove his hands from her waist, whilst hers remained fixed to his shoulders.

'It's been over two hours since I last kissed you', he declared, the words reverberating in her chest. 'That won't do at all', and without a moment's hesitation, he had closed the infinitesimal gap between them and brought his lips crashing on to hers.

This kiss was completely different from the others they had shared. The announcement and Mrs Patmore's teasing had apparently broken the dam of restraint his feelings were set behind and now a great flood of love and passion washed over the pair. Their previous kisses hid been full of sweetness and light. Passionate, of course, but still with a measure of restraint. Mr Carson hadn't wanted to push things too far, and Mrs Hughes was still recovering from the complete and total shock of it all, but now they were at the mercy of their desire and they allowed it full expression.

Mrs Hughes was quickly being set on fire by his kisses. The way his mouth moved over hers, the way his hands had moved from her waist and onto her back to draw her even closer, she wasn't sure if she would be able to remain upright for much longer. Her hands moved from his shoulders to bury themselves in his hair. She accidentally ran a nail along his scalp and suddenly found his mouth had moved from hers and was paying lavish attention to a spot just behind her left ear.

The release of her mouth should have given her time to catch her breath, but he had found a place so wonderfully sensitive that any remaining air was immediately expelled from her body. Her fingers tightened in his hair as the sensations overwhelmed her. 'Charles … oh, Charles!' was all she managed to whisper, before his lips were claiming hers once more.

Her words were far too close to his fantasies. Fantasies he had only really allowed himself to dwell on in the past few weeks, but which had lingered in his brain since the day at the beach had shown him there was another path to take. He wished they could stay like this forever, but there was a world that continued on the other side of the door and people waiting for them.

He lessened the fervour of his kisses, moving from her lips to pepper kisses all over her face, from her forehead, to her eyelids, her cheeks and her jaw line. Feeling her tremble in his arms, he felt she might not be able to stand if he let her go entirely and so manoeuvred them to the chair by the door. The chair he had sat in on so many late evenings to discuss the day's matters and learn about her life. It had seen a lot, this chair, and would do doubt bear witness to a great many more events. He wondered briefly if they should take it with them when they eventually retired.

But that was a question for another day. All he cared about now was the welfare of the woman in his arms, whose breathing was shallow and still trembled with great emotion. He sat, drawing her onto his knee, and found that they were now at an ideal height for him to rest his head on her chest. He felt suddenly weary with emotions, and the lack of sleep from the night before, and finding no reason for him not to do so, quietly murmured her name with great satisfaction, wrapped his arms more tightly about her and laid his head just above her heart, which he could hear thudding violently.

How many new sensations would this man inspire, Mrs Hughes wondered, marvelling at the tenderness her fiancée revealed. She curled her left hand deeper into his hair, and dropped kisses on the parts of his head she could reach, whispering terms of endearment as she did so. The passion they had shared had been exhilarating, but this quiet form of declaration soothed her, helping to still her hammering heart and restore her to a state where she felt more herself.

'I don't deserve you', she murmured against his head, only half aware she had spoken the words aloud. 'You've given me so much. So much love. So much happiness. A security I never …', her voice cracked. She swallowed her emotions and continued. 'You've given me so much, and I've nothing to give you in return.'

He said nothing, just drew one hand from her waist and presented it to her. She immediately placed her own in it.

'That's all I want from you, Elsie.', he said, caressing her name with his voice, and looking deep into her eyes. 'That's all I'll ever want.'

She smiled broadly, shaking her head in wonder and drew his lips to hers for a slow and languorous kiss. It was devoid of the heat previously exchanged, but no less charged with meaning, as they sought to communicate their deepest feelings.

Mrs Hughes drew back and gave a slight smirk. 'Do you think we are sufficiently rumpled to satisfy Mrs Patmore?'

Mr Carson gave a grunt. 'Probably not, but I think our time might be up, so we'd better go and face all those knowing smiles.

She stood, twitched her skirts into its usual folds and held her hand out. Mr Carson took it and they made their way to the servant's hall.

The servants' Christmas lunch was always a riotous affair as everyone felt the freedom to relax and have fun. This year was no different, except there was an occasional glance to the head of the table as the staff all basked in the love which was radiating from their Butler and Housekeeper.

The two tried to act as normally as possible, except they now found excuses to touch the other's arm, or their fingers brushed together as they passed the sprouts. Crackers were being pulled all around them and Mrs Hughes's eyes gleamed at him in challenge.

'Absolutely not.'

'Not even for me?'

He shook his head in amusement. 'Oh very well! But that won't work every time!'

She shot him an amused and triumphant glance, which eloquently conveyed just how wrong he was, and presented him with a cracker. He gamely took the other end and tugged. This particular cracker was just as stubborn as the man pulling it, however, and refused to budge. With an almighty tug, Mr Carson finally managed to break it apart, sending Mrs Hughes's portion whipping upwards. The toy (she thought it might have been a marble) flew out of the end and sailed through the air down the table, where it landed, with a small clunk, in Andy's wine glass.

The company had fallen silent in the few sections this action took to complete and now all eyes were transfixed on the marble. Andy recovered from his surprise, fished the marble out of the glass, and raised it for all to see. 'Thanks Mr Carson!' he said, a wide grin on his face.

The entire table burst into laughter, including Mr Carson, and someone (it might have been Madge) even applauded.

'Well aren't you all a merry bunch!'

Mr and Mrs Bates stood in the doorway, Anna carrying the picnic basket their food had been sent in, taking in the assembled faces, looking happier than they had in quite some time. Mrs Patmore, who had gone to fetch more gravy, came in the other door as this statement was made and laughed with joy. 'Oh Mr Bates! How lovely!', she gave a great sniff. 'It's so wonderful to have everyone back where they belong. And these two have seen sense.' She gestured towards the end of the table.

'What?!', asked Anna, looking between the cook and the two, now blushing, people she had indicated.

Pandemonium broke out, the staff all trying to get the news out first. 'Mrs Hughes' … 'Mr Carson' …. 'It's _so_ romantic' (that might have been Daisy).

Mr Carson quelled the riotous exclamations by merely raising his hand, and then gestured to Mrs Hughes that she should speak.

'Mr Carson and I are going to be married.', she said, her eyes shining and the pride in her voice evident to the whole room. It was the first time she had said the actual phrase to anyone but her fiancée and her heart contracted with the joy of it.

She had stood up as she said the words and now found her arms full of the body of the younger woman, who had sped around the table so fast she was almost a blur. All Anna's joy and love was poured into the embrace as she held the woman who was as dear to her as any mother, and far more supportive.

'Oh, I'm so happy for you!', she said, pulling back, and then breaking free to turn to Mr Carson, 'Both of you!' She placed a quick kiss on his cheek, before embracing Mrs Hughes once more.

'Oh', rumbled the butler, 'Good gracious', but his bashful smile betrayed how pleased he was by her action.

Mrs Hughes vaguely wondered if the day was going to get any more emotional and thought a breath of fresh air was needed, if only to help everyone else return to normal. She announced her departure to the room, patted Mr Carson on the shoulder to indicate he should remain where he was and not worry, and went out to the back courtyard, where the crisp afternoon air bit her cheeks.

She stayed out there for quite some time, not really thinking of anything very much, although it did cross her mind that in Mr Branson's absence it might be a nice touch to have Dr Clarkson walk her down the aisle. The Scottish link would be obvious to everybody, but only three people would be aware of how much she really owed him. He hadn't saved her life exactly, but his care of her had made a difficult time easier. She had another reason to be glad the cancer hadn't materialised. In possession of the knowledge of his love, she idly wondered what Mr Carson would have done if she had been properly unwell. She found she didn't much care. Hypotheticals were a waste of time; she was a woman who dealt in facts.

When she eventually returned inside, she found the dressing gong had been rung, and the usual activities pre dinner were well underway. She caught a glimpse of Mr Carson as he entered his pantry to decant the evening's wine, and although his face softened at the sight of her, he made no move to forgo his duties. It was as she wished it to be – they needed to prove their relationship would change nothing about the smooth running of the household. They would, no doubt, have time to reflect on the day's events later in the evening. Meanwhile, she thought she'd better look over the bedroom arrangements for the guests who were to attend the Servants' ball on New Year's Eve.

Entering her room, she saw someone (obvious as to who) had placed the bundle of herbs in one of the punch glasses (now, thankfully, containing water) and as she sat at her desk to begin her task, she gave a small shake of her head, sending a smile heavenward in thanks for the love which had been granted her.

Some while later, as dinner was starting to be served, Mrs Hughes was started from her work by a knock at the door, which turned out to be Mrs Patmore carrying a tray laden with various leftovers from lunch and a pot of tea.

'I've decided Daisy can handle the rest of dinner.', she said by way of explanation. 'You didn't eat much at lunch and I wanted to check you were alright.'

'And hear the gossip', quipped Mrs Hughes, the sparkle in her eyes telling the cook that she appreciated the gesture and acknowledged the strangeness of the way at the same time. 'Whatever possessed you to give Mr Molesley that message?!' She tried to look fierce as she asked the question, but the humour was evident in her voice and soon the two women were laughing heartily at each other.

Oh, I hope I didn't embarrass him too much! But I was so happy to hear the news and I wanted you both to know how much I approve.' Mrs Patmore shot a sideways glance at her friend. 'He didn't need much encouragement, I take it?'

Mrs Hughes blushed at the insinuation and looked down at her tea. 'Oh' she said quietly, helping herself to a slice of turkey, 'I wouldn't say that.' She thought back on all the small encouragements over the years. Regardless of whether there had been a romantic motive behind them, they had each needed the small pushes to get then where they had ended up.

Mrs Patmore watched the thoughts and feelings flit over the face of the woman opposite and smiled in contentment at the happiness so evident.

'You love him then.' It was not so much a question as a statement.

'I truly do. And more to the point, he loves me. I would have scoffed if anyone had told me so yesterday.'

Mrs Patmore reached out to pat the arm of her friends who was valiantly holding her emotions in check. Mrs Hughes blinked away the threatening tears and covered the cook's hand with her own.

The silence this tender moment produced was interrupted by the opening of her door, Mr Carson strolling through it.

'What's wrong?' asked Mrs Hughes, alarmed at his presence in the middle of the family dinner. 'Has something been forgotten?'

He waved his hands to calm her fears. 'No no, nothing's wrong. I've just been relieved of my duties for the night.'

'You have?' queried Mrs Hughes, looking slightly baffled.

'His lordship's exact words were 'What on earth are you doing Carson, don't abandon Mrs Hughes on a night like this.' And when I started to protest, he actually _winked_ at me and said 'Just this once', and told Mr Barrow he was in charge. So here I am.' He finished his tale with a wide sunbeam of a smile, which was warmly returned by his fiancée.

He turned to look at the cook, who tried to make out she had not been watching their expressions avidly.'

'I wonder, Mrs Patmore, if you wouldn't mind postponing our usual present giving until tomorrow?'

'Mr Carson!' came a shocked Scottish voice. 'It's _Christmas_. We can't turn our oldest friend out just because we're engaged!'

'I think you'll find you can!' chuckled Mrs Patmore, jumping in to rescue the situation before it caused any real animosity. 'We'll share our presents tomorrow. Tonight should be about you two.' She paused as she opened the door, looking back at the couple, smiling fondly at them. 'Don't stay up too late chatting … you've got the rest of your lives to set the world to rights!'

Mr Carson turned to Mrs Hughes as the door was shut. 'She's right you know!' She smiled up at him and rose on her tip toes to place a brief kiss on his cheek.

'I'll go and get some sherry', he said, disappearing out the door as she spoke.

She remained standing as she waited for his return. She was somehow too restless to sit in anticipation, and paced around the room a little instead. It did not take him long to reappear. She had her back to the door as he entered and heard him humming a tune – a tune that was somehow etched on her memory although she'd only heard it once before. She gasped as she span around in surprise, and leant against the little side table for support.

'You've not sung that song in quite some time', she whispered.

'Four years, seven months and – erm – three days.', he replied, doing a quick calculation in his head. He placed the decanter and glasses on the table and reached out to caress her cheek. 'I didn't know you'd heard me.'

'You weren't supposed to be aware there was any need to sing with joy!', she countered. 'I could hardly tell you what I'd heard without acknowledging the rest of the business.'

He drew her into his arms, but kept enough distance between them that he could look at her comfortably. 'Just remember what the vows will have us declare Elsie, my darling. 'In sickness _and_ in health.' No hiding anything, not even a nagging worry.'

She nodded and drew his lips down to hers, kissing him in a way that conveyed how sorry she was for her past actions. 'I promise', she whispered a she pulled back, resting her hands on his chest where she could feel his steady heartbeat through her palms.

'Is that when you knew?', she asked quietly, addressing the question to one of his shirt studs.

Mr Carson chuckled briefly. 'I don't think I would have put my feelings into so many words then, no matter that the song claimed my heart had been stolen. All I would admit to myself was how relieved I was that you weren't ill and we could carry on in harness together. I started to review my thoughts in the wake of Mr Crawley's death. It showed the loss of a loved one could happen at any moment and I found myself wondering if perhaps we could have something more secure. But I didn't know how to work towards my goal. I felt you slipping away from me as whatever happened to Anna caused you so much pain. And then that day at the beach.' He paused to smile at the memory. 'It taught me to hope, d'ye see? Hope that there might be something more.'

'And there was', she responded; smiling at the tale he unfolded. A frown replaced the smile, however, and she looked at him seriously. 'I'll explain about Anna one day, but I need her permission first.'

He nodded, clearly wanting to enquire, but knowing it was a subject he could not push.

'I knew when I refused Joe.', she said, deciding he deserved to know as much of her heart as he had shared of his. 'Or at least'. She continued, seeing his eyebrows raise in slight disbelief, 'I knew that I couldn't bear to leave you, even if we were only ever destined to be partners in our professional lives. It grew slowly from there.'

He accepted her honest gift quietly, drawing her closer to him, and placed a kiss atop her head. 'I love you dearly, Elsie.', he murmured into her hair, relishing her quiet hum of satisfaction which reverberated in his chest.

The past twenty-four hours had revealed a wealth of feelings they had each tried to supress, but what had had no option to shoot forth, fountain like, when he had taken the brabe step of revealing his heart to her. They were united now, and as they made their way up the stairs to bed some long while later, their linked hands were only the outward manifestation of two lives and two hearts which were now forevermore to be entwined.

 **A/N:**

 **Phew ….. It's been a busy week of dissertation stuff, melting in the heat, watching the tennis, more dissertation stuff, and this – quite often written late at night. Note to self: never try to write a kiss scene just before you go to sleep, unless you** ** _want_** **to be a little hot under the collar.**

 **The bit about her reaction being far too close to his fantasies was inspired by the greatest post engagement Pride and Prejudice fanfic I ever read, which has sadly disappeared from the internet. In homage to that, I've included it here.**

 **Tumblr is such a source of inspiration in photographs of looks between the two, so thanks to all of you who post them!**

 ***This moment was very much inspired by what Fellowes was saying about the touch between Carson and Violet after Sybil's death. I've reblogged the post on my tublr today.**

 **I have an idea for an epilogue, but it may be better to post it as a separate one shot …. We'll see! For now, thank you all so much for your support. A review or two would set me up forever!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I wasn't planning on writing this for a bit, because of dissertation writing, but in celebration of getting through chapter two (and over 11,000 words (of 15,000)), I thought I'd celebrate. This story is longer than my dissertation – that's rather alarming! Enjoy!**

Epilogue

The week leading up to the ball on New Year's Eve had been frenetic. Not only had both Evelyn Napier and Henry Talbot been invited by Lady Mary, but Lady Edith had quietly suggested that Bertie Pelham might be invited too, causing raised eyebrows both above and below stairs, whilst giving Cora no end of pleasure, thinking that both her daughters might be edging towards happiness.

So, there were bedrooms to prepare, the silver to polish and Mr Branson's packing to assist with. Mrs Hughes recalled the last time he had left to start a new life with Lady Sybill and tried to support him in whatever way she could, knowing the memories would be twinging at the back of his mind. She was highly amused to find him in the blue room, which had been set aside as 'the packing room' surrounded by boxes, looking quite befuddled.

'I didn't realise I had so many things!', he said, gesturing to the piles around him, which seemed only to grow by the day.

'That's what happens when you have a child.', she quipped, taking it all in and arranging the boxes in her head as she surveyed the scene. 'We'll have you set before you know it.'

Between all of that, Miss Baxter taking ill with the flu (meaning Mrs Hughes was required to tend Lady Grantham) and the various other daily panics and pressures that were involved with the running of the abbey, the butler and housekeeper had had barely a moment to spend alone together, and when they did, Mrs Hughes was generally too tired to make much of a contribution to the conversation.

They agreed to postpone a serious discussion on the wedding until the new year. They had, after all, set a firm date (Mr Travis being most amendable during the brief telephone call Mr Carson had made) and that was the most important thing.

The evening of the ball rolled around and the excitement of all within Downton's walls, from the children, to the butler, right down to the most junior hallboy. Speaking of the children, they managed to escape from nanny for a full hour, all three of them somehow finding their way to the kitchens. They were lead (Mr Carson suspected) by an intrepid Sybbie, who beamed up at Mrs Patmore and asked if she would be allowed to help make something for the party, in a manner so reminiscent of her mother that no one had the heart to send them away. Soon enough the three Crawley children were learning how to ice the buns Daisy had prepared earlier, until they were found by a rather frazzled Mary and Edith, followed by a nonchalant Tom, who rather suspected his daughter of having been the ringleader, and was quite proud of the fact it was downstairs that had been chosen for their nursery flight.

The unexpected arrival had thrown everyone's time keeping out, however, and Mrs Hughes found Lady Grantham's bell ringing before she was quite ready. She had planned to change for the ball before attending to her ladyship, but the order would have to be reversed. It hardly mattered, she told herself. She only had to open the ball with Lord Grantham and then could revert to her usual place on the periphery. A little voice in the back of her mind chimed that things had changed, but she firmly reminded her heightened emotions that the evening was one of duty, no matter what the circumstances. She hoped she wouldn't be too tired for sherry once the ball had finished.

Having dressed Lady Grantham, checked that Lady Rosamund (who had arrived the day before, quite unexpectedly) did not require further assistance, and popped her head round Miss Baxter's door to assure herself the woman was still on the road to recovery, Mrs Hughes finally reached her room.

She had barely sat on the bed (her feet surprisingly tired from the hectic day) when someone knocked on the door.

Rolling her eyes at the fact the staff could even manage to interrupt her _here_ , she bid whoever it was to enter, and was surprised to find Anna peeking her head through.

'I'm sorry to disturb Mrs Hughes, but I wondered if you'd like some help with your hair? Her Ladyship caught me before I went downstairs and suggested you might like to wear this.' She held out a broad tortoiseshell comb which was set with tiny pearls.

'Good gracious!' Mrs Hughes was very surprised by the generosity on display and more than a little baffled by the continued attention from her employers.

'I'm not sure it'll be worth it Anna. I'm not going to be the focus of attention. Such a fuss!' she scoffed.

Anna smiled, and moved to start arranging Mrs Hughes's hair. 'I can think of one person who will be admiring you.' She gave a little giggle at the slight blush on Mrs Hughes' face. 'And I think you'll need to get used to a little fuss. Lady Mary was asking what you might wear for the wedding.'

'Clothes probably! Anna – it hardly matters, all I want is to be married. If I thought we'd get away with it, I'd go to Ripon registry office and be back in time for tea!'

Anna did not believe this and scoffed as she answered. 'Well you know _that_ won't do, and once we've time to plan, you'll see how much everyone will want to be involved. And you'll be happy about it once you've started to think what you want. … There!' She stepped back as she fixed the comb securely in the middle of Mrs Hughes's bun.

'Your help on the day would be much appreciated Anna, if you would be willing. And I suppose you're right about the plans. I had better learn to pick my battles! Now – be off with you! I'll just change my dress and be downstairs shortly.'

Not half an hour later, Mrs Hughes made her way to the great hall, happy to see that all was in order and the orchestra was being tuned under the watchful eye of Mr Carson. She didn't like to disturb him – he looked so in his element – and so she surveyed the hall for a last time, satisfying herself that all was as it should be.

Her perusal was interrupted by Isobel, who had just arrived and hailed the housekeeper.

'I wonder if we might have a chat Mrs Hughes?'

'Certainly Ma'am. What can I do for you?'

Isobel gave a short laugh and guided the other woman over to some chairs in one of the alcoves. She gestured to Mrs Hughes to sit and once they were both settled, she began to speak.

'It's more a case of what I can do for you, Mrs Hughes. I've been thinking about things ever since the lovely news of your engagement, and I was wondering if you would consider spending the night before your wedding at my house?'

Mrs Hughes opened her mouth to say she did not want a fuss (wondering if she was going to become repetitive on the subject) only to be forestalled by Isobel.

'I'm quite aware you won't want a great to do, but it struck me that no bride, whatever her age, should have to forgo the little traditions which the young set such store by. It would mean such a lot of you would accept.'

'In that case, Ma'am, I should be very happy to do so. I am quite overwhelmed by the generosity being shown me.'

'It is no more that you deserve Mrs Hughes', said Isobel, beaming. 'And I insist you call me something other than Ma'am from now on. Mrs Crawley will do if you feel anything else to be improper, but I hope you will consider calling me Isobel in the future.'

Mrs Hughes nodded her agreement, feeling the world really had turned upside down in the last week. She was surprised to find she did not mind at all.

A short while later, the orchestra started up with a lyrical waltz and she was sought out by Lord Grantham so they could open the ball together. She saw Mr Carson moving in the direction Lady Grantham and felt a small pang of regret that she could not dance with him (some things might change, but not everything). She put her slight sadness to one side, however, and gave herself up to the enjoyment of the dance, engaging in idle conversation with her partner.

Robert was having similar thoughts to his housekeeper and, with the advantage of height, he tracked the movements of Carson and Cora. Adept at leading, he managed to manoeuvre Mrs Hughes towards the other two without her being aware of what he planned. Cora saw him coming and smiled as she realised his intentions.

'I do believe we have the wrong partners Carson.'

The two couples came to a half and Mr Carson looked down at his fiancée in some surprise, but with the start of a smile twitching his lips.

'I'm not sure …' Mrs Hughes started to protest, desiring to dance with Mr Carson very much, but recognising he might think it improper.

'Oh just this once, Mrs Hughes', chuckled Robert, and before she knew it, she was in Mr Carson's arms, being whirled about the floor.

She had never let herself imagine how this would feel. The embraces they had shared on Christmas day had given a different intimacy, and were entirely between the two of them. She became lost in his eyes as they gazed solely at each other, and she only managed to keep moving around the room because he had not lost all ability for thought. She sensed the fact that they were now drawing the eyes of a great many of the guests, but spared no consideration for how they might be feeling. The rise and fall of the music swelled within her breast and allowed her heart to open fully. The way he was looking at her, with such tenderness, was absolutely breath-taking and if any person had been harbouring doubts as to the depth of feeling these two shared, they were immediately dispelled.

It was a magic moment, but not one destined to last. As the last strains of the waltz were played, Mr Carson drew her hand to his lips to place a brief kiss on it, before he turned to lead her from the floor so they could find their next partners. Duty needed to be resumed. To their surprise, they found their respective partners, Tom and Isobel, already on the floor in each other's arms. Mr Carson turned to Mrs Hughes, shrugged his shoulders and drew her back into his embrace.

So it was that the butler and housekeeper danced the last night of 1924 away together. They spoke of little of consequence, but their eyes conveyed more than was possible through mere words. The love they had for each other was passed in the looks they shared, and the promise of much happiness to come in 1925 and far beyond was expressed in the touch of their hands and the movement of their feet.

 **A/N: That was supposed to be the end, but I've got another idea, to do with hair, that I might add as an epilogue to the epilogue. Or do it as a one shot. I'm not quite sure.**

 **I've been listening to 'Young Blood' all day, and watching t3andcrumpets's (ScintillatingTart on here) fan video …. The way the music swells just at the point Carson is conducting the orchestra is pretty much the background music to their first waltz!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: This is the final chapter, and is something that just floated into my mind one morning, and refused to budge. This is dedicated to Brenna-Louise and ChelsieSouloftheAbbey for various little points of inspiration.**

Epilogue

Two days before her wedding, Mrs Hughes found herself unclipping her chatelaine from her waist and handing the precious responsibility to Anna, with a pointed, yet joking, word of caution about guarding the store cupboard key. It had been decreed, by those with the means to exercise such power, that the day before the wedding should be free from duty for the two main participants.

Mrs Hughes was not sure how she was meant to spend her free time. She was not due at Crawley House until 6pm, when Isobel had organised a small dinner for Elsie, Beryl, Anna and Phyllis (now all – very strangely – on first name terms when out of the realms of the Abbey); the decorations for the church were all planned and would be set up by hands other than hers the following day, and her dress – the beautiful dove grey suit she had selected and fought Lady Mary tooth and nail on in regards the colours, and which Anna had laboured over so lovingly – was already hung up, awaiting her arrival at Crawley House.

Anna had taken no chances of Mr Carson seeing it. He had displayed a curiosity that had surprised a number of people, asking seemingly unrelated questions to lull them into a false sense of security, before taking an unnatural interest in silk and beading. Mrs Hughes had not been taken in, and fed him snippets of information quite different to what was actually being created. She might have gone too far when she told him that the Dowager had offered her tiara, but he had merely raised his eyebrows at her and sauntered off to sort out the wine for that night's dinner.

He didn't reveal he could see through her just as well, and that he wouldn't care if she arrived wearing a sack, so long as she married him.

The four months between the announcement of their engagement and the wedding had been a curious mixture of pleasure and pain, frustration and accord. They were both learning how to deal with their new closeness and how it would slot into their working lives. There had been a couple of tense scenes revolving around the expression of their affection which had left them both angry and aggravated, although it was easier now to back down from their moral high ground, understand things from the other's perspective and admit when they were in the wrong – there was too much at stake to let such things fester.

The arrangements for the wedding were another thing entirely, for they were not just fighting themselves, but the entire Crawley family. Everybody felt like they had the right to express an opinion, and the plans grew steadily more lavish by the day. Mrs Hughes, who had managed the running of the household for over twenty years, wondered if this fact had slipped the collective memory of the Crawleys, for she found herself practically surplus to requirements. The effect was unnerving at best.

It had made her extremely snappish, and Mr Carson – delighted by the fact Lady Mary was taking an active interest – took some time to realise that whilst the style and show the family were suggesting might appeal to his pride, in the end it would suit neither him, nor his pragmatic bride. One memorable argument had ended with Mrs Hughes threatening to drug him and kidnap him to Gretna Green, just to be done with the thing.

Through all the arguments, however, their love for one another ran like a thread of silver, keeping them connected and grounded as the tensions threatened to lift the lid off the emotional house of cards. They had made a promise early on that their evening nightcap would continue, regardless of what they had been disagreeing about. Occasionally, when the tension had seeped out from under the sitting room door, or even – on a couple of dramatic occasions – exploded in the Servant's hall, Mrs Patmore would join them. There was always a household matter she needed to discuss, but her presence acted like a balm which soothed the heated passions of her friends. They had never managed it before the engagement, but now they were somehow able to relinquish their anger (regardless of whether the argument had been settled) before bedtime.

So it was that on the Thursday evening before their wedding, Mrs Hughes and Mr Carson were happily tucked away in his pantry, revelling in the peace that an empty servant's hall brought, for the rest of the staff had retired early, knowing the next two days would be fraught with unusual activity.

They were sitting on two chairs in that strange, almost loveseat-like, arrangement which allowed them an intimate closeness without being too shocking should they receive an unexpected visitor. Mr Carson would have liked to sit on the sofa in her sitting room, but it would not have allowed him to look upon his fiancée properly. He stored it away as a wish to be fulfilled in a few days. When they were on honeymoon.

Their thoughts seemed to run along the same lines, for Mrs Hughes took a sip of wine and looked directly at him.

'You still won't tell me where we're going?'

She said it with no artistry or bat of her eyelashes. She had tried every trick she could think of in recent weeks to no avail, although he seemed to appreciate the extra flirting her attempts brought about. He had remained steadfastly silent.

Tonight he just smiled archly. 'I am a man of mystery if ever there was one. I've been taking lessons from a formidable master of the art.'

'Hmmm' She retreated to another sip of wine with a small smile at his allusion. In truth she was enjoying the mystery.

He set down his own glass, wanting to touch her more than he wanted to taste the smooth finish of the wine, and grasped her hand, turning it over so he could trace the lines in her palm, following them to the base of her wrist and then back up to the very tips of her fingers. He was lost in some labyrinthine thought as he did so, and did not meet her eyes, but eventually he spoke.

'How are you faring, Elspeth Margaret Hughes?'

She scoffed slightly at the formality, which drew his eyes to hers for the first time in many minutes.

'I'm just practising'

'Well then, Charles Edward Carson, at this moment I find that I'm quite content. And looking forward to Saturday.'

'Just as well really, you'd never fit that three ring circus into Gretna.'

He looked amused as he said it, but his words were shot through with a nervousness which ran deep. She sensed it, knowing how many arguments they had had on the subject and reached forward to cup his cheek, looking deep into his eyes as she spoke.

'It's really just the one ring now, but quite honestly I don't think I'd notice if the king himself were present, because I'll only be looking at one man, who has been my constant support these many years, and has managed to make me happier than I ever imagined.'

She leaned forward still further to cement her words with a kiss. It started slowly, but he clearly craved more contact, and when he released her hand to run his fingers across the base of her neck, he also deepened the intensity of the embrace. Her heart ate sped up, and as his tongue made a languorous sweep of the roof of her mouth, she gasped at the sensations. She hoped she would never get used to the intimate thrill that particular action gave her.

They parted, a little breathless, but neither wanted to withdraw completely, and their foreheads touched together, as if they were magnets forever destined to attract each other. Their eyes remained closed and so their other senses were heightened. She could smell the intense aroma of his hair treatment, very gently tinged with the scent of the red wine he had decanted earlier. She had discovered that the vapours somehow always managed to cling to him. She would never tire of it and fervently hoped it would remain even when retirement claimed them.

She was blissfully content and exhaled. He did the same at the exact moment as she, and their synchronicity amused the pair greatly. She drew back, wanting to look at him properly, and saw a unexpected apprehension is his eyes, before he returned his gaze to their entwined hands.

'What are you thinking about Charles?'

He hesitated to answer immediately, trying to put his thoughts in an order than would make sense, but eventually decided to simply speak his mind. She had given him the courage to do that.

I've been thinking about a great many things of late and I've got a couple of … requests …. to make of you. They're not that significant – at least you might not think them so – and one of them might seem a touch indecent, but I'd like to ask them anyway.'

She smiled at his nervousness. Even now, after all their declarations and actions which expressed their feelings, he was still afraid he might somehow offend her.

'Let's leave the indecent request for a moment, if you're unsure. Ask away, Mr Carson.'

He was emboldened by the mirth sparkling in her eyes, and the tender yet encouraging smile which graced her lips. He plunged in without further hesitation.

'I was wondering if you would wear your hair slightly differently on Saturday? I love the way you wear it now, but I've a particular fondness for the style you favoured just before the war.'

Whatever she had expected, it was not this, and she glowed with not a little pride to know that he took such an interest in her appearance.

'I daresay it would be possible. Heaven knows it might make the orange blossom easier to place.'

'Orange blossom?'

She had answered distractedly, trying to picture the hairstyle she had long since abandoned and only now realised her slip of the tongue.

'Oh …. Well, that's one cat out of the proverbial bag! I'll certainly try, but I'm not entirely sure Anna or I will be able to remember it precisely. It's complexity was part of the reason I gave it up!'

He had chuckled with delight at this small nugget of information regarding the secret which half of Downton seemed intent on guarding, but grew serious as he listened to the problem she was faced with.

'I might be able to help jog your memory.'

He stood and crossed to his desk, pulling open one of the drawers. He swiftly found whatever it was he sought, and it evidently brought much joy, for his face softened as he regarded it. She had followed his movements, intent on watching everything he did before the short enforced separation the following evening which felt strange and painful, and so she missed none of the interplay of feeling on his ever so expressive face.

He looked up and caught her staring. He smiled a little, although she could tell a trace of nervousness had reinstated itself. He came towards her.

'I'm right in thinking this is the style you had?' He proffered the object in his hands and then stood before her. She sat transfixed by what he had just given her.

There she was, in black and white. Slightly crinkled about the edges, in that pinstripe dress she had been so attached to. The years rolled back and showed her a woman of fifty or so, with a hairstyle more suited to a grand lady, but then her hair had always been her pride and joy – or at least until the grey had become more prominent. Then she'd simplified the arrangement, which helped to hide the streaks. It was her one true vanity, although some might say her reluctance to give up her corset suggested otherwise. The day she retired would prove them wrong.

Words. She needed to speak, but could find nothing more consequential to say than 'Yes, that'll help Anna very much.'

The crack in her voice revealed more, and her eyes asked the questions she couldn't voice.

'Someone – I forget who now – discovered a whole heap of photographs in the attic and brought them to me. I meant to pass them on to you, but it must've slipped my mind. I recalled them when your scare occurred and put your picture in my desk as a talisman to health.'

She sought his hand at this last admission and kissed his knuckles before giving it a squeeze to indicate he should continue. He reclaimed his chair and drew both her hands into his, punctuating the rest of the story with loving touches across her palms.

'When the worst was over, I allowed you to slip to the bottom of the drawer.'

She smiled at his turn of phrase, immediately wishing she were small enough to be slipped into his pocket, although she did not voice the thought. It would keep.

'Then, after the beach, I sought you out again. By that time, the frame you had so selflessly bought had been relegated to the drawer, and my search for you turned that up as well. Putting you in the frame seemed like the only fitting and natural conclusion.'

He rumbled to a stop and drew his thumb across her cheeks where a few tears had fallen. She shook her head slightly at the ways he continued to surprise her, but found she could not form a coherent sentence to relay the fact. His steadfast love had bereft her of all words.

Instead she remembered there was something else on his mind and sought to enquire about that. She was amused to think that anything he had to ask might be considered indecent, given their passionate encounters since the engagement and their approaching wedding, but seeing the nerves take hold again, she merely squeezed his hands to bolster his courage, and let him know she was receptive to his thoughts.

'I find I'm a bit nervous.' He raised his hand against her concerned interruption. 'No, no … let me explain. I'm not having doubts, it's not the wedding I'm worried about. It's _after …'_

He looked at her to ensure she caught his meaning. Her quiet 'Oh' assured him that she did.

'Perhaps nervous is the wrong word. I don't doubt that we will be ... ummm … well, er, matched in a physical respect …'

He had the grace to blush as she raised an eyebrow at him, a slight smirk on her lips.

'Well then. I fail to see what you're driving at Charles.'

He sighed. 'I think I'm worried about being … overwhelmed by everything I am allowed to do. That the freedom will be too much.'

She chose to ignore the thrill she got from the images her imagination chose to throw at her with his words and focussed on being practical. 'And your indecent question relates to that, does it?'

He nodded. Swept his eyes over her face. Took a breath. Plunged in.

'I wonder if you would allow me to see your hair down tonight?'

She looked surprised. 'Is that it? I was sure you wanted to see my bare ankles or something!' She said it with a jocular tone, but she did not miss the flash of desire in his eyes. 'But you've _seen_ my hair down before … the night of the fire, or when Mr Lang took ill. I could name a number of other occasions over the last twenty years. I don't quite see the need.'

She was protesting, which seemed ridiculous when she thought about it, but she was suddenly absolutely mindful of the grey streaks which threaded through her locks. His love made her feel youthful, her hair told another story. She could hardly tell him that.

'But I've always seen it in a plait, never completely free of constraint. I want to see whether it lives up to my dreams.'

He had not intended to say that, and she certainly hadn't imagined she would hear it. Her face split into a wide smile. 'You've been dreaming about my hair?'

He gave a short nod, unable to trust himself with a proper answer, lest he let slip all the other things he had been dreaming about. 'Please Elsie.'

She sighed and inclined her head to his whim, before sitting up straighter in her chair. She patted her hair, quickly pulling out the pins which held the side waves in place.

'Slow down a little. I'd like to see exactly how you do it. I quite fancy taking it down myself one day.'

'When would you …?' the question died on her lips as her mind threw up _many_ times when he might perform the action, and a little breath puffed through her lips as she lost herself in the images for a moment.

Recollecting her purpose, her hands moved back to her hair as her eyes never shifted from his. The intimacy of this action did not escape her.

Her hands moved round to the back of her head, removing the pins which held the heavy plait in place so that it unfurled and lay heavy down her back. So much he had seen before.

She drew the plait around her neck to start undoing it and heard his breath hitch as he anticipated his desire. Her fingers fumbled slightly and she found, after so many years of performing this task, that she couldn't quite remember what she had to do. She stood and crossed to the mirror, feeling his eyes following her movement.

The rest of the plait was quickly undone. The sheet of her hair covered her entire back and skimmed her hip bones as she ran her fingers through it for tangles and any hidden pins. She leant her head back slightly and gave it a gentle shake, unaware that the lamplight caught the various hues and made them glint and sparkle.

She turned, wondering what he would make of it, and if she had aged suddenly, only to find he had left his seat and was very, very near to her. He said nothing as he reached out and ran a hand from the crown of her head downwards, almost the full length of her hair, only stopping because the angle made it impossible to reach the ends without bending. He took a piece in his hands, laying it over them as if it were the finest piece of silk, and brought it up to his lips to kiss.

She was overcome by the reverence, by his worship of so mundane a thing and thoroughly unnerved by his continued silence. He simply continued to cover her hair with kisses, only varying his caresses by peppering her face with them too.

'Charles' she murmured 'It's only hair. It's old, and getting ever so grey and …'

'It's glorious' he interrupted fervently, pausing in his adoration for only so long as it took to gaze in her eyes and assure her he spoke the truth. 'It is a secret which has been hidden in plain sight …. And it _far_ exceeds my dreams.'

He wound a strand about his finger, which seemed to draw her closer to him. Once again, their foreheads rested against each other as they recovered from the new revelation. Her heart swelled as she heard the depth of feeling in his whispered 'thank you' and then a shiver ran the length of her body as he wound his other arm about her and drew her even closer for a searing, lingering, kiss which said more than either were able to vocalise.

They stayed entwined, with her hair cascading down her back for some while, before they retired, safe in the knowledge that only two meagre nights separated them from the moment when their hands and their hearts would finally be completely joined together – never, as the service would tell them, to be put asunder.

 **A/N: Well that's the end of this little foray into Downton land. Hope you enjoyed it. Reviews would make my day.**

 **This was written before I heard all about those lovely spoilers, and Mrs Patmore playing agony aunt and such, so this isn't exactly canon anymore, but it's my head canon, so there!**

 **I've got such an Elsie hair fascination going on ….. I'm not quite sure where it comes from, but I couldn't resist this!**


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